Jesus Christ, That's a Pretty Face
by sainthood
Summary: Perhaps she wasn't insane, after all, wasn't love all that anybody wanted? Tegan/Sara.
1. Xanax

She didn't know what this pain was called, just shy of 21 she had felt it since she could remember. She could always admit to herself her problems, it scared her this one she couldn't. She had stopped crying long enough for the echos of the two girls to bounce off her walls. Heavy gasps and sighs were present, if she was still long enough she could hear the groaning of tension coming from the bed in the room next to her. A twisting pain twirls in her stomach, she had named this love.

Her name was Tegan, she's known this since she was five years old. The girl in the next room was Sara, she had known this as her name since she was three. Both of them were twins, genetically one. Tegan had always felt this connection, she always felt like Sara was her second half, iher soul-mate/i. She knew Sara had been born, because what ever that was in the sky had designed Tegan to never be alone. She ijust/i knew it.

She knew she loved her twin, as one should love they're partner. Tegan hated herself for this, such sickness in her head, such horrendous feelings, not to mention the disgrace. She didn't hate the girl who laid next Sara, because figured she could never hate any one as much as she hated herself.

She smiles to herself, as she hears Sara voice letting everyone in the tiny Gastown apartment know, she was about to hit her high. Tegan's hands grip at the sheets, her body excited by the thoughts of herself giving Sara the same pleasure. Her teeth rip at her chapped lips, her legs collide together tightly, feeling the tingling reaction of these thoughts.

She closes her eyes, her body aware of what she was doing to herself, her mind was oblivious to the overwhelming pleasure. Tegan was almost to the point of the closet thing she knew as an orgasm, her mind was still set on Sara in the other room. Little to her knowledge, Sara's mind painted pictures of Tegan, much the same way whenever she looked up at her lover.

bTegan/b

My breaths ripped from my lungs, I throw my hands back from inside my pajama pants. I grip the sheets at my buckling hips. "Fuck me, not again.." I mumble, floating back into reality. I lean my head against the wall and mentally kick myself for losing control.

This was becoming a regular occurrence, these thoughts were something sick. They manifested inside my brain, pulling all reality away. I inhale sharply and pull Xanax from the drawer, forcing my body into a euphoric high. I wasn't sure how to deal with these feelings, the meds did.

I step onto the floor with shaky steps, monsters start to arise from the shadows, their roars grow as I step out into the hall. I push past them and flee to the bathroom. The blinding light lets me know this is tangible, soon my temple starts to pulsate in pain. I turn on the shower and strip, barricading myself in the place I liked to call my 'Safe Space'. Stars crash in the world around me. My hearing struggles to block out the sounds of Sara and her lover down the hall.

I struggle to comprehend the world outside my high. It's cruel ways, how it mocked my being at every chance. I look down at my body, and sigh at every impurity I wished to changed. How queer out of two lesbian twins, I still considered myself the gender fuck. It's times like these, I suck on the supple taste of my sarcasm.

Tiny sleep scratches along my upper back sting as the water makes it's way through they're surfaces, I almost trip myself in attempts to itch them. Out side the shower curtains the pills paint picture of myself, looking in the mirror, in the mirror there happens to be another mirror, where another me is looking to another mirror, whose surface revels yet another me looking into another mirror, it continues. I grasp my eyes around the mind rape, I curl up on the porcelain floor and begin to wait for this to wear off. It was predictable.

Two tablets over your prescription could earn you a buzz, things would starts to switch colours, and you might see a mental mind fuck as this one was, but it wasn't anything worth while in doing.

Four pills over your prescription, would earn you a mind bender, images much like the ones I just seen are frequent, every time you step you swear your knees are going to shatter. You don't need to have a twin, because you swear a miniature version of yourself is following you everywhere.

Six or seven over prescription was an overdose, only once had I been so bold enough to try to take my life with something that made it so much easier to live in.

I had only gone two tablets up over the dose prescribed, my short lived high was coming to a close. Here's the thing about crashing, it can either go really fucking good, and you'll end up feeling better than you did before, or it can go bad, and you'll end up taking the rest of the bottle.

I seemed to be coming down at an even pace between the two. A part of me wants to go pop a few more, and stay in this high for a few hours, and the other part of me is two fucking chicken shit that I might possibly have to face the monster in the room beside mine.

So instead I turn the taps of water off, and pull back the curtain. My body floats to the cabinet, I pull out my tooth brush and wash the awful two day old what-ever-the-fuck-I've-been-binging-on-taste from my mouth, and by now you're assuming I'm the strung out crack whore of the twins.

And I'll let you think that, because you're entitled to your opinion. But truth be told, I was just as pathetic as a methamphetamine user, aside from having no dependant need on a substance. I had become so wrapped up in my own little world of infatuation, that I forgot how to act like anything then a clingy five year old brat.

It's been days since I've left the apartment, I fear when Sara leaves, because I know one day, she's not going to come back through those doors. I'm scared her girlfriend will ask her to marry her, and Sara will start a life somewhere else, and I'll be left here to rot under my own self destruction.

I know these are all phobias, and completely irrational, but after spending most of my teenage years wondering if my bodies right, or if it's wrong, or even if there's a way to look for it the way it did in my head, I felt like my thoughts for Sara were the only thing I had that I was sure of, because as of now, everything else about myself was up in the air.

So as much as I seemed like a daily drug user who could care less about anything aside from myself, I was just as much an insecure, self doubting, young adult as your self.

I look at myself in the mirror, once again. A pale, nude body reflecting something I wasn't sure wasn't quiet sure was me greets my vision. I start to weep as I in vision slim lines, where my curvy hips are. My breasts are smaller, barely hitting the A-cup mark. I smile at the image. My face was soft, the barrier between boy and girl was gone. I was just.. me.

"Tegan..?" A voice asks from across the room. I snap out of my thoughts and grab the closet towel.

"Fuck me. Yes Sara?" I turn around to find my blonde haired sister creeping across the tiled floor. Her eyelids are heavy, her body slowly slinks out of her oversized mens shirt. I feel the muscles in my thighs clench. I struggle to keep my thoughts in proper order.

"I did it, she's gone." She whispers, her hazel eyes starting to become a rose pink.

"You did what...?" I say with a forced disgusted grin. She shakes her head and sits on the edge of the wet bathtub.

"I broke up with her, we're done?" I laugh nervously.

"Mid-Fuck? Jeez Sara, I know your not the best at that, but that shit is harsh." She looks at the floor, her thumbs play an endless war with each other, her toes to tap to a beat inside her head.

"Who knew sex helped you come to terms with life changing feelings." I hoist myself up onto the counter, and pull the towel around my body tighter. It presses tight against my breasts, choking me momentarily. I sigh and mentally pity my sister.

"And those are?" She shifts her body over and looks up at me, tears stream from the corners of her eyelids. Her shirt collar slides from her shoulder, a thin bone predominantly rears it;s self from her skin.

"I think I'm in love with someone I shouldn't be." She replied nonchalantly. My heart starts to race, I feel a slight blissfulness. "Tegan, I think I might be in love with you."


	2. Prozac

Tegan pussy footed around the remark, she couldn't tell if the sheer terror on her sisters face was caused by the fact she was scared of Tegan's reaction would be, or if it was because the whole thing was a joke and Tegan had just admitted back that she too, was en fact in love with Sara. All she knew was the tension was suffocating, and she needed to leave the tiny bathroom before her emotions got the best of her.

She flees to her bedroom, with one swift movement her door is locked and she's under a fortress of blankets and pillows, hoping to whatever it was in the sky, that she didn't fuck up the best thing she had going for her.

Tegan felt the pain of heart take hold of her chest. She knew she needed to leave the apartment, if only for a night. She needed the fresh air of downtown Vancouver to fill her lungs, and clear her thoughts. She throws the towel from her body, feeling like she's taken a semi-truck off her chest. She opens the windows, because she feels her pixie-toned skin feels like it's going burst into flames. She hangs her naked body out the window, she doesn't care who sees her at this point, she just wants this burning sensation to end.

Sara's hand's knock on her door, her tiny voice calling her sister through what she thinks are Alligator Tears. Tegan's brain can't muster up a response, the trauma caused by that little sentence was enough to kill her.

Tegan reaches for a shirt and pants laying on the ground, she's too distressed to realize she's forgot both underwear a lady should wear when walking out. She takes a quarter sized amount of hair gel and runs it upwards through her tiny one inch locks. She opens the door and pushes past Sara, who now screams at her to come back as she leaves the apartment.

She doesn't know why she chooses a small Gastown bar to escape her home, she hated these places, the scummy people, the lack on any human knowledge amongst the drunken men and women. She orders the heaviest drink they offer, and presses her self in the back corner. Her eyes dance amongst women hanging foolishly off their men, she really wishes she brought her Xanax with her. An overdose would be perfect.

Her guts feel like they're going to burst, so she orders up another drink. After that, she orders another one.

_Three ain't bad, that's bound to take the edge off._

Tegan didn't feel drunk enough after this.

_Four. Four should do it._

Four didn't do it.

_Fuck it, I'll empty my pockets on these fuckers._

And soon after that, Tegan had found herself staring face to face with a cute blonde through her drunken haze remember as Sara.

**Tegan**

I'm surprised to see her, my mind trips over it's self continuously. I can't even manage words to tell her.

"Neehhiiiaa Saaraaa." I say, tumbling over my two left feet.

"Tegan, why'd you run away?" She whispers, warping her tiny hands around my neck. I hic-up and try to smirk, I'm sure it didn't look this way.

"Well, I can tell ya' why I didn't." She frowns and looks to the floor.

"This is great, you're drunk." I furrow my brow.

"Hey, you know, this isn't eazeh on meh either. I've _always_ loved you. Now suddenly you love me? Jesus Chriiisstttt, Sara, Where's my Xanax?" She frowns and slaps the bar counter, earning the attention of the tender.

"Get me whisky. And I swear to god it better be fucking dry." Sara's eyebrows are set in a scowl, her tiny lips quiver. Even if I was flat on my ass drunk, I knew my sister was faking the sadness inside her. This freedom of mind my drink caused me has lead me to believe Sara wasn't lying. I knew once this was over, my feelings would be different.

But this still didn't stop me from dragging her to the woman's bathroom and locking the doors. Tear's fall from her hazel eyes, as my tongue dances around her neck, but I promise her they'll be gone in a few minutes, and she'll be wet with something else.

"Tegan. You're drunk. Why'd you run away?" She whimpers, her tiny hands lacing around my hair. I look at Sara, and try to read her thoughts, the second she let her guard down I could be in her head, but she seems to have figured out my ruse, and leaves me with a denial of access. I feel the alcohol swish around in my stomach, my throat burns. I don't respond, she sighs and wraps her fingers around mine.

"I'm taking you home." I don't question Sara's actions, I follow her effortlessly through the bar and back home. She doesn't say a word to my stumbling and incoherent rambles. She just supports me until we reach my bedroom once again. Her hands take off my shirt, and my pants, leaving my naked body exposed to the breeze blowing in the window.

I look at the wall, my brain not processing the fact she was dressing me for bed. I want my Xanax, I want my sister to turn into the terrifying monster that I fear, I want to run back to the shower and hide. I want to forget that I love her, and that I'm pathetic enough for her to have to come be my saviour.

I want the high to never go away, I want to take more and more until I reach that golden light at the end of the tunnel. I'm not sure what happens there, but I'm sure I won't get to the golden chariot that radiates the light, and I'm sure I'll never meet Tomas at the gate.

Sara lays my head down on the pillow. She removes her pants, and cuddles in close beside me before burring our bodies under the comforter. She shuts off the light and lays still. I close my eyes, trying to fight off the lingering notion that I should take my meds and end this all.

The bed stirs beside me, a soft brush takes hold of my lips. Tears fall on my nose, I'm too scared to open my eyes to face my sister, I just hold on, as she feeds me lies.

"Tegan. I won't let you take the meds anymore. I'll make you better, I promise.."


	3. Iproniazid

Sara stares at the white ceilings, her thoughts jumbled in a mess. Beside her Tegan sleeps, small childish snores rolling off her tongue. Sara can't help the humbled feeling this creates, she can't help but thinking back to their not-so-distant teen years.

Sara had loved times like these, when her sister slept in the same room as her. The only time she could pretend, and even somewhat believe that she had a normal functioning brain, like a normal person. Sara could pretend Tegan wasn't sick, and she was simply crashed from all the extra-curricular activities. It was at these times that Sara fought most with their young mother.

It was hard to cope with a mentally sick child, but Sonia had come to terms when Tegan was young that she was fucked up somehow, so it made it easier on her introducing the idea of a hospital. Sara couldn't stand the fact of having her twin so far away.

So Sara would plead with her mother for her to stay, Sonia knew that Tegan was erring on the edge of safe far too much for this to be a wise decision, but she'd rather have one daughter sick, than both. Although, in present time, Sara had concluded herself, too, must also be twisted in the head, for helping Tegan believe this world she lived in was real.

Because truth be told, there wasn't anyone in the little Gastown apartment tonight, other than Tegan and herself.

Tegan rolls over her, her blush toned lips mummer sounds Sara can only make out as a accidental narrative of her dreams. Sara looks over at her twin, she wonders if Tegan will be in a rage to find her in her bed, Tegan's mind partially blind to the events of the last night. Sara wonders if she'll yell, and if her larger, more developed body will take out the insanities on her. Sara knows she has always been patheticly small, for being the healthiest and first born, Sara was skinny, her body **just** reaching 100 pounds. Through the thick sheet on her back, the feeble and curvature of her spine stuck out like a sore thumb.

Once on a family vacation, while Tegan was under the influence of her medication, and lord knows what else, she had become enraged with Sara, her fists beating heavily upon the then brunette. Sara barricaded herself in their hotel room, sentencing herself to a near death when Tegan had gained entry to the room, and sat all her weight up on Sara's fragile breast plates.

Sara's ribs had fractured, and she found herself left with mild asthma afterwards. Still, she seen this as the act of drugs and not the act of Tegan. Sara braces herself under the pillows, her lips letting out a surprised gasp when Tegan wraps her arm tightly around her sisters waist, pressing her face tight against Sara's neck. She can feel Tegan's breasts on her hips, her thin legs wrapped around her own.

Sara feels her chest tighten, the longing and nagging need to get out of Tegan's embrace claws at her mind. She feels sick, like her passes at Tegan the previous night were nothing more than a pathetic attempt to win of the affections of a Schizophrenic.

She doesn't know if she's crying, or if her sudden bout of anxiety has caused her face to become damp with nervous sweat. Sara jerks out of bed, her body lands on the ground with loud thump, but she doesn't care. She gets up as quick as her frail legs allow her and dashes from the confines of Tegan's room.

She locks herself in the bathroom, falling behind the trashed brown door and begins to cry. Her mind wonders at the black and white room before her, how come it had never occurred to Sara that colour seemed void of her life before? Was it that a legitimate medical problem kept her from seeing the intricate details of life, or had she just been so used to seeing beauty in something that wasn't in anyway beautiful, she lost the power to communicate life's beauty through her mind.

She curses the stars when she hears Tegan's soft and confused whispers on the other side of the door. "Sara," she beckons, "Sara, let me in. What's wrong?" Sara holds her hand to her mouth, muffling the sobs pouring out.

"Nothing, Tegan. Just go away fro awhile." She mumbles, throwing her head back against the door on accident. There's a sharp pain when her blond locks collide with the door knob. [i]"Fuck!"[/i] she shrieks, causing Tegan to bat on the door harder.

"Sara, what happened? Let me in!" Tegan notices an old metal hanger with an old shirt of Sara's hanging on her door handle. She rips it off and begins to fashion it into a quick and crude lock pick. Sara moves away from the jolting doorknob, feeling every movement Tegan does as she tries to (In what her mind thinks) "Rescue" her twin. Sara's scared, surely Tegan would be in a rage if she knew Sara was really running away from her.

So she throws herself across the bathroom floor, opening the window only moments before Tegan gains entry. She finds Sara against the wall, her tiny body in the midst of an anxiety attack. She notices tiny droplets of blood on the floor, she sums up in her mind, a little irrationally, that some one else was in this room. And that someone else had hurt her Sasa.

"Where is she?" Tegan mumbles, falling beside Sara to exam the gash on the back of her head. Sara shakes her head, pretending she didn't know what Tegan was talking about.

"Who? It was my fault, I hit my head on the door." Tegan shakes her head, the lack of prescription drugs blurring the fine line between her reality and the sick world her mind has created. She grabs onto Sara's arm, pressing her rather lengthy fingernails into her soft skin. She flinches under the cool sting.

"Tegan, you're hurting me." Sara's can barely breathe, let alone talk. Her mouth is filled with long gasps for air as her anxiety triggers the asthma that Tegan had also caused. She tries reaching for the blue inhaler on the counter, but she's pulled away from her spot on the floor.

"Where is she Sara? I'll kill her for doing this to you." Tegan screams, throwing Sara up against the hallway wall. Sara seizes up from the pain.

"She's not real Tegan, you made her up." She whispers, falling to the ground in a mess of tears and a desperate need for oxygen. Tegan towers above her, looking down with a confused, yet hurt face.

"What did you say?"

"She's not fucking real Tegan. There wasn't ever Emy, I haven't had a girlfriend since the day we left Calgary. You," she sneers, pulling her body across the floor, "fucking," she's feeling too weak to even call the police, "made her up."

Time seems to stand still. Everything is blurry to Sara, she can barely see Tegan standing against the hallway wall. She can hear the tiny mummers coming from the girl, who through all of this, she still loves. Sara's pretty sure she's crying now, she wants to console her sister, but it seems her fights for air prevent her. "No, Sara, no don't blame this one on me..." She whispers, pulling closer to what looks like her sisters final resting spot on the floor. "I know she was real, I watched you two, I heard you two talk.." Sara shakes her head, using the little strength she had to pull away from Tegan.

"Tegan," she wheezes, "I-I can't breathe, help m-"

"She was real, Sara don't fucking lie to me!" Sara gasps as she's ripped off the floor. Her heads beginning to feel dizzy, her eye lids are becoming ever heavier to keep open. "Why would you do that to me, Sara? Why would you like to me? I love you!" She screams, through her tears. Sara's mind is racing to find a justification for this, for some, even one reason to make this beating right. Surely she by some means deserved this anguish on her house. But, for the first time, her mind had failed to create an excuse. She's left knowing for a fact she didn't deserve this. On the verge of passing out, she begins to cry again. Her whole body shakes, her lips tremble, and with the final strength left in her she whispers, "Tegan, I _love_ you, too."

Tegan freezes, her hands slowly unclench Sara's bruised arms. She falls to the floor, collapsing in a heap. She listens as Tegan walks to the kitchen, the predominate sound of drawers opening fills the only sense she has left. She hears Tegan fussing above her, before a small tube is pressed softly into her mouth.

Sara's confused, moments ago Tegan could have killed her, and now she was giving her the medicine she needed to survive? She inhales deeply, trying everything she can to keep the sweet sleeping euphoria from her body. Her eyes flutter, she watches as Tegan goes back to the kitchen, grabbing a long knife from the drawer adjacent to the one she was just in. She returns to Sara's side, wiping the tears falling from her face. Sara moves away her crying sister, killing every urge to comfort her. "I'm sorry Sara. This is all my fault," the knife hovers in her hand above Sara, she's praying to god not to die, "I should have ended this alone time ago." With one swift motion, the sharp knife is pierced through her pixy coloured skin. Sara's eyes flash open, she looks at Tegan, pleading with her not to do what's already been done. Tegan slinks to the floor, looking at the knife that penetrates her stomach.

"No, no, no..." Sara whispers, her breathing finally calming down. "Tegan, why would you do that!" Tegan looks up at her with begging eyes, Sara can't fathom the events that occurred. "Why would you fucking do that Tegan! Don't fucking leave me, I don't want to fucking be alone!"

"I'm sorry.." Sara races to the phone, her fingers tremble as she dials 911, she can't even comprehend what the operators saying, she just finds herself screaming her address and that they need to help Tegan. She hangs up and drops beside her sister, holding onto her bloodied hand.

"Don't go Tegan.."


	4. Lithium

Sara sits up in her bed, the little lungs in her chest gasping for the air her night terror had stolen. Beyond the dusty glass of her window, Vancouver's lights dance around in her eyes. A motherly affect is caused by them, and soon soothes Sara's back into a paralysis of sleep. The event's of the passed months float in the back of her mind, from the confession, to Tegan's return home after a near-fortnight in the hospital thanks to her "breakdown".

This all seemed to take a silent toll on her, each day taking more and more out of the once happy 20-odd year old. At one time everything Sara had felt was real, but she couldn't verify it was like this anymore. She had become so used to faking these things, it was almost impossible for her to pick out the intangible feelings from the tangible. Sara now lived in a constant stupor, a dark cloud tattooed over her head. It rained everyday in her world, the sunshine she chased laid somewhere beyond the unattainable horizon.

The only colour she could ever find in this place was Tegan, from her swirling chocolate yes, to her livid brunette hair, she was like fresh water colour over a blank canvas. But this wasn't a comfortable change, it laced Sara with the utter-most feeling of confinement. As if god's punishment for her greatest sin was to be tormented by the very thing that it had stemmed from.

Sara groans, pulling her body away from the object that now embraces it. She didn't want Tegan's company, but it seemed nothing could stop it. In the past 24 hours she had done everything to; going to the market didn't help, Tegan merely followed her in her stoned haze. Putting a lock on her bedroom door was pointless, Tegan could easily open it with an old hanger.

"Sara," she whispers coyly, "I something special for you." Sara continues to stare at the wall, closing her eyes tight to block out the tears.

"What is it, Tegan?" She hisses through clenched teeth. Tegan's warm breath travels down her spine, her blood boils under the soft touch of lips against her neck. Tegan's touched made her sick, she was repulsed by even the though of her. There was no doubt Sara was in love with Tegan, had you asked her to give her life up at this moment, she would in a heartbeat.

But after all that had happened, Sara's wonders if it's worth it anymore. Is the week long argument, really worth the ten minutes of pleasurable-sex? Was a beating from a strung-out Tegan really worth Sara keeping her pride? She can't decide, but she knows when Tegan's hands creep between her legs, it wasn't for Sara's pleasing. The only thing Tegan had control of anymore was Sara.

Her prescription pill habit had turned to something more serious, and a nightly hit of Heroine and Cocain was the end result. The voices in her head had completely taken over, leaving Tegan's body nothing but a vessel for self destruction. But with Sara, she could somehow find the strength to find herself amongst the 3 or so personalities in her mind. It especially pleased and amazed her when she could control not only herself, but her "beloved" Sara in these situations. Tegan would creep into Sara's room in the dead of night, her hands slowly making their way up Sara's thin leg. Sometimes Sara would push Tegan away, but in her frail state she was much weaker and often gave up the fight. The next morning is when the beatings would happen.

Sara would confront Tegan about the night, the rage of Sara calling her grasp of reality "rape" would overtake Tegan, and she would fade back in with her "beloved" Sara laying bruised and bloody under her. Tegan couldn't live this guilt, so she'd slip into her bedroom and chose her poison from the music box beneath her bed.

Sara turns on her side, teething on her plump bottom lip. The whole world was a blur under the touch of crystal in her eyes. She brings her legs close to her body, trying hard not to concentrate on the smooth trickle of blood slowly sliding down her inner thigh.

The walls to her world were broken for now, and reality slipped through her intricate cracks. Sara's arms ached, she was exhausted by the struggle. Why was it she still fought, when it was _well_ passed obvious she was never to win? Tegan's larger frame was simply too strong to fend off.

"_Tegan..."_

She whispers, closing her eyes to listen for signs of the older twin. Much like every other night, the only sound is the echo of a music box song Sara had long forgotten. She sighs, her thoughts of freedom and escape repressed by the sick Stockholm Syndrome coursing through her body. Was it _really_ rape if it was done by some one under the influence? Was it _really_ a justifiable act if it was done by someone you love?

Sara looks at her sheets, stained the same bloody colour that pumps through her heart. The same bloody heart that feels so much adoration for her captor. The same captor that stained her bloodied sheets.

She watches the shadows on the wall, captivated by the heavy shadows dancing along it's broken surface. Beautiful figures of all monochromatic scales waltz across the ceiling, was this god's way of showing her it's alright, or was this a coincidence taken as a miracle- much as many of her "miracles" had been.

Sara had never been one to believe in such the lie religion one, everything had a logical reason. _Nothing_ was because it was, it had came from somewhere. But now that she was sure Tegan was indeed the anti-Christ her-self, god seemed to appear every where in her life.

She look at the blood between my legs before the sickness in my stomach becomes to great, and I find myself emptying my stomach out the bedroom window. She drags herself to the mirror, disgusted by the image reflecting back at me. Most women would say their reflection was repulsive, but Sara would_ beg_ to differ. Unlike the models looking into the mirror, she was disfigured with years of man-made destruction.

She sighs and looks at her chest, tracing her finger along the obtuse shape of her broken rib. She continues with her finger, running softly against the tender bruises Tegan had caused with her tough bite. From her she moves to the grip marks on her arms, flinching under the pain her soft skin still held. And finally she moved to her lower regions.

Everything was bloody, and Sara couldn't make out much without sitting down. Everything seemed different then she had remembered it. The smoothness was gone, and replaced by deep cuts under thick hair. Sara couldn't even remember the last time she had shaven, the razor would catch her wounds and the pain would immobilize her. But this was trivial, and she could reason that it was time to get rid of the prepubescent look. Still, nothing could erase the large bumps of scar tissue building around it.

For a moment she wishes she wouldn't black out, just so she could see the way Tegan was destroying her body. She sighs and falls back on the bed, fighting off the urge to fall asleep. She couldn't rest tonight, she was far too vulnerable.


	5. Chlorpromazine

Sara collapses beneath the windows, her mind overtaken by the extraordinary pain flowing through her body. Some would say Sara had experienced hell and back, after suffering through Tegan's new found torture for the months it had lived. But to Sara, nothing, and she could find _nothing_ that would compare to the past two days. It has made her sick, realizing she would have rather had died last night, then been graced with the soft light of the rising sun when she awoke this morning.

Everything upon review felt like a twisted and sulphuric dream, as if everything had happened after taking a hallucinogenic. It all played out before her like a sick pornography, replaying over and over like a broken record. Sara wanted to claw her eyes out, but even that wouldn't be enough to get rid of the mental image of the last 72 hours.

She drops the lamp clenched in her palm into a small puddle of blood below her, wrapping her fragile fingers around her temple. She clenches her eyes tight, screaming for her intangible world to rise from the ashes of reality and over take her. Sara's frame rocks back and forth, ungodly jolts flowing up her spine. Tears spill over the rims of her eyes, sending glimmers of light down her bruised cheeks.

The body before her groans, pushing its diminishing frame to an upright position. Sara pushes herself against the wall, hiding a glass shard beneath her her palm. Tegan tries to sturdy herself, surprise at how fast the weightlessness of the high had worn off. It's not long before all her senses return to normal, and she immobilized by the wound Sara had implanted on her left temple.

Her eyes are wide, somewhere in her heart, Sara could feel that for the moment "her" Tegan had surface in the many faced monster. But this was short lived and she collapses once again, wincing when her fingers touch the large gash in her hair line. Tegan laughs, wiping the blood on her stained jeans. She watches Sara, captivated by her quivering body. This was all a game to the voices in Tegan's head. They knew she was weak, nothing but a harmless creature. They knew they were strong, that they could cause Tegan to do things only seen in movies.

Tegan laughs again, before taking in a deep breath. "Boo." Sara pushes herself up, clenching tightly to the blade of glass as she runs across the room. Tegan follows behind her closely, letting off a low laugh. Sara's body slams into the apartment door, she tries desperately to pull the lock free- but it's pointless. No sooner then she gets there Tegan has pulled her body to the ground, and trapped her once again in her Killing Jar.

Sara lunges for Tegan's throat with the shard, only to be pinned by Tegan's strong grasp. "You want to fucking hit me? You want to fucking get hit?" Tegan brings her fist down across Sara's face. "Then you'll fucking get hit." She repeats this three more times. Tear's fall from Sara's eyes, she tries to plead with Tegan, but her jaws become locked from the abuse.

On the fifth time, Sara's grabs Tegan's hand, using the little strength she has to keep it from shattering her skull. Tegan's eyes trace her petite face with intrigued, amused by the mockery Sara seemed to create for herself. Her hands slip around Sara's neck, fitting over the black lacerations of a previous night. Slowly, ever so slowly, her grip tightens.

It seemed like this went on forever. For the first few moments Sara had thought it to be a ruse, something like a game to convince Sara she was going to die. By the fifth minute she could begin to feel a dead weight on her wind pipe. By the seventh minute she was once again convince she was to die.

She watches the clock, her brain mapping the rest of her ending. The seconds count down, Sara can feel everything becoming more and more distant. Around her the shapes and colours of the apartment become a blur- fading into one large swirl of acrylics. Sara wonders if shes going to hell, if the chariot she was promised at birth had left, and if she was destined to nothing more than to float through the ceiling. But some how, some how that didn't matter to Sara, because in any case death would ensure she would be free. The world starts to go black, her whole body lays riddled with a sudden paralysis. Sara smiles, almost managing to choke a laugh before fading off into the night.

...

"I don't think it would be a great idea. I mean... it's kind of late notice."

"I don't see the problem Sara, it's a week from now you've never had a problem with me visiting befor- Oh, wait, I get it. You and Tegan have girlfriends now. Haha, I gotcha." Sara sighs, examining her busted lip in her bedroom vanity. She can't remember how she got to her bedroom. She's not sure if she's dead and this is her afterlife, or by some event, hardly miraculous she had survived.

"No mom, it's not that, it's just," she contemplates confessing the previous to nights to her mother, "Ah, never mind." Sonia Clement moves uncomfortably in her chair, her lips twisting into a sympathetic frown for her younger twin.

"Sara, honey, is something wrong?" Sara takes a seat on her bed, her eyes trailing down to her ripped jeans. She was sure she had been wearing wearing for a week straight for the simple fact they were the only thing more torn and shredded than her body. She looks back into the mirror and grimaces.

"I-it's nothing mom. You know it'd be okay if you came to visit. I'm just over-worrying like usual." She fakes an awkward laughs, doubting it was even the least bit convincing. Sonia lets out a sigh, knowing not to further question her delicate baby.

"Alright, well I'll call you before I leave on Sunday just to make sure it's still alright. Deal?"

"Yeah, I'll talk to you later."

"Hey Sara?" Sara holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder, using her hands to message the throbbing bruising on the left side of her face.

"Yeah, mom?"

"If anything _was_ going on, you _would_ tell me, right?" Sara holds back the staining in her eyes, doing her best to keep her voice livid and cheerful. Lying to her mother killed her- she mentally adds it to her list of sins to repent.

"Of course, mom. I love you."

"I love you, too. Sar-Bear." Sonia hangs up the phone, slumping back in her new recliner. She closes her eyes and begins to wonder about her youngest daughter. She couldn't pick out anything wrong in particular, every Sunday at 7 she would receive call, just as she has for the last year her daughters had embarked to Vancouver. Sometimes she'd forget, as she had assumed had happened this time and called Sara back at supper the next day. Sara would feed her the usual lie that Tegan was getting a lot better, and that 'the ocean air seemed to be doing a lot to her, in a positive way of course' and that it would only be a few weeks before one of them would find a job, and she wouldn't have to pay the rent for them anymore.

Sara had never been one to be very optimistic about things, but something had alarmed Sonia during this conversation. Sara didn't feed Sonia those lies about her twin. Instead, she changed the subject rather quickly and collectedly, almost rehearsed. Sonia didn't have to be in the Gastown apartment to know something was wrong and her eldest daughter had lost it.

She looks at the pictures of her babies on the wall, wondering where all their problems had stemmed from. How was it that Tegan, the one who was supposed to be so strong, so noble- could be so weak? Where had these insanities spawned from, how was it she could lose the fight to keep her own mind? Sonia had read once that children of divorce were prone to depression, and mental states of the like- surely, this neglect couldn't have caused Tegan to lose the very thing Sonia had to divorced to keep?

What was it that plagued the 1/3 of her heart, what evil had made it past her motherly grasp and into her soul? Sonia puts her head on her left hand, always a proud women, she had always taken some shame in showing what she felt. But at this moment, she couldn't keep the tears left inside.

She felt like already one of her children had died, and that pain, it only added to the trauma of "losing" Tegan to those in her mind. Sonia couldn't handle it, she knew had her daughters stayed together any longer, one, or perhaps both were going to die.


End file.
